Prima Donnas and Secrets
by lowri
Summary: Claudia Jardin comes to Cascade to give a concert. Someone fires shots at her and jim and Blair are assigned to protect her. Can they find the suspect despite help from Duncan MacLeod.


Disclaimer:This story is a Highlander/The Sentinel Xover ****

Disclaimer:This story is a Highlander/The Sentinel Xover. I guess you could say I've brought Highlander characters into the Sentinel universe. Highlander is owned by Panzer/Davis and the Sentinel is owned by Bilson/Demeo. I wrote this for fun and will not/did not receive any money for my efforts. The only original characters are Alicia Manning, the immortal bad-guy and Hank Fielding, the Major Crimes Watcher. Some of you may remember him in another story I wrote called Bonds.

Highlander:The series is about Duncan MacLeod's life. He is immortal, over four hundred years old. My story takes place just before the sixth season show, Indiscretions. In that show Joe Dawson is in Paris and we learn that Duncan MacLeod is in London for one of Claudia Jardine's concerts. Claudia was introduced to us in the episode Timeless, which most of us have overlooked due to Methos' romance with Alexa. You don't need to remember any of that for this story. The important thing to know is that Claudia was made immortal at that time and has refused to learn how to use a sword saying that she needs to feel mortal in order to keep her music. Reluctantly, Duncan accedes to her wishes. My story tells of Claudia's time in Cascade, right before she leaves for London.

The Sentinel:The series is about Jim Ellison, who is a police detective who has five enhanced senses; smell, taste, touch, eyesight, and hearing, which makes him a sentinel. His abilities are anchored by his guide, Blair Sandburg, an anthropology graduate student who works part time for the Cascade Police Department. The time frame for this story is in the fourth season, but I have decided not to include any of the emotional baggage that Alex Barnes brought them.

Many thanks to my beta's. First to Cindy Combs, who helped me make a realistic police story out of an idea, and who suggested the title. Sis, who read through for Simon-speak. Angela Mull-Gabriel, who went through the story and corrected all my grammar and passive voice problems. Lastly to my teacher, Lisa Hughes, who has taken a very inexperienced writer and tried to instill the ability to weed out the extraneous from the important. Every story is a new lesson in writing. Without you guys, none of this would be possible.

Hope you all enjoy the story. Comments to, lwright3@rochester.rr.com

****

Prima Donnas and Secrets

Part I

I

Detective James Ellison pulled his truck alongside a Cascade PD cruiser. His partner, Blair Sandburg, sat beside him, anxious to meet the famous pianist upstairs. Miss Claudia Jardine had arrived in Cascade to do a concert the following evening. At the hotel, a sniper had taken a shot at her and hit the roof of her limo, just inches from her head. The mayor, a college friend of her manager's, had asked that they take care of it personally. The scuttlebutt throughout the precinct was that she was a spoiled brat and impossible to please. Jim was *not* looking forward to this assignment.

A uniformed officer came over to greet them.

"I'm supposed to take you up," Rodwin informed them.

Jim nodded. He motioned Sandburg in front of him and they followed the officer inside.

As the elevator doors closed, Rodwin turned to Jim. "Have fun. Her majesty has been driving everyone crazy."

Jim glanced at his partner with a look of resignation. Major Crimes had offered to move her to a safe house, but she had refused. She wasn't about to change her life because of some sicko, had been her reply. In fact, they had been instructed to take her to the Cascade Auditorium Theater in order to practice. It was not a safe course of action, but it wasn't his decision to make.

When the doors opened, all three could hear a woman shrieking from inside the suite. 

"I want to leave *now*! I'm not afraid of someone shooting at me. I just want to get out of here before I die of *boredom*. If these wonder-cops don't get here soon, I'll..."

Rodwin smiled at Jim with pained amusement. "Better you than me."

Straightening his shoulders, Jim knocked on the door.

She flung it open. "It's *about* time. I've been waiting for over two hours!" Her arms were folded across her chest.

He interrupted. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that when someone is threatening your life you don't just open the door to any Tom, Dick or Harry who knocks?"

She pointed to the officer standing off to the side. "He's here, what could happen?"

Jim's jaw clenched in frustration. He turned around to look at Rodwin, who mouthed, "Told you." 

"We can leave for the Cascade Theater now," Jim told her firmly.

"Did my piano arrive safely?" she asked as she swept by him.

"Yes."

"Good. The mayor assured me that it would be there all set up and that I could practice this afternoon for as long as I like."

He ignored her jabbering as he pushed the first floor button in the elevator. 

"I hope you have a nice car and don't plan on taking me there in one of those black and white things. That would be *so* embarrassing."

"I don't have a police car."

Jim gave an internal sigh. Prima donna, Simon had called her. What an understatement. They rode the elevator down with her still complaining, which he tuned out. Simon owed him big time for this. Sandburg patted him on the back and he realized that the elevator doors were open and he was blocking the exit.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" Claudia asked sarcastically.

His head began to throb. "Just making sure there aren't any gunmen in the lobby waiting for you."

She swept past him again. Blair smiled conspiratorially. Jim took the lead again and led them to his truck and waited for the fireworks. It didn't take long.

"What? You want me to get into that? Where's the limo?"

Jim looked at her, trying to seem patient. "This is it." 

She didn't move. He reached around her and opened the passenger door. "Would you like me to help you in?" A veiled threat wove its way through the polite words.

"Absolutely not. I have no intention of getting in a *truck*."

Was she dense? "Listen lady," he leaned into her face. "You've two choices. Get in and I'll take you to your piano, or we can turn around and go back up to your room. And keep in mind, while you stand here and think it over, your sniper friend probably has you in his sights."

She gave him a saccharine smile. "If you put it that way, I guess I have no choice."

She put her hand on Sandburg's shoulders and pushed herself into the truck.

Blair grinned at him. "Hope that's not an example of the famous Ellison charm." Then he followed her inside.

Jim slammed the door shut behind them. Damned woman. He walked around to the other side, giving his surroundings a quick scan. Nothing caught his eye, so he opened the door and got behind the wheel.

"So do you boys know anything about real music?" she asked as they drove.

Jim felt his jaw clench again, but Blair saved him from having to speak.

"I'm Blair Sandburg, by the way. I have to confess that classical music isn't one of my fortes, but I do know the difference between Chopin and Mozart."

She groaned melodramatically. 

Jim chuckled. "Hey, there *is* something you're not an expert in." Jim felt himself relax slightly.

"Very funny," Blair retorted with pretended indignation.

Claudia looked back and forth between the two men. 

"Are you planning on staying in Cascade after the concert tomorrow night?" Blair politely asked Claudia.

"No. On Thursday night I have a concert in London. My friend, Duncan, is joining me here and we'll be flying to England together."

Jim's thoughts returned to the attempt on her life. "Tell me more about what happened this morning."

Claudia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "We pulled in under the awning at the hotel. My chauffeur got out and opened the door for me. I got out of the car and stood there talking to him for about a minute and then I felt something go whizzing by my head. I didn't hear the gunfire or anything. Jake pushed me down and then my manager came tearing out of the hotel. He called the police and made me wait in the car 'til they came."

"Sounds terrifying." Blair patted her on the arm.

"It is, I mean was." Then she gave Blair a genuine smile, which he returned full force.

Jim pulled up in front of the Theater. "Stay here until I check out the inside." 

The front door was unlocked, and the lights had already been turned on. Jim opened his sense of hearing as he walked down the center isle. He could not detect the presence of anyone else. His eyes scanned down each row of seats as he passed them. Fully confident that they were alone, Jim allowed his guide and Claudia to enter.

"My piano!" she squealed, as she ran down the aisle to the stage.

She ran her hand across the wood, caressing the instrument, as the two men joined her on stage.

"This piano goes everywhere with me," she told them reverently. "It was a gift from Duncan, and now I can't perform without it." She laughed self-consciously.

Moving to the front, she made herself comfortable on the bench. Her fingers ran over the keys, drawing out a melody that Jim was unfamiliar with. He propped himself up against the piano, leaning on his elbow.

She jumped up, shoving him off. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I wasn't hurting it," Jim mumbled as he moved away from her precious piano.

"Go sit in one of those chairs and stop bothering me. Better yet, why don't you walk around outside, you know, walk the perimeter or something cop-like."

"I'm not leaving you alone. Sandburg and I will stay inside where we can keep an eye on you."

"How reassuring," she said sarcastically.

Blair sat down at the edge of the stage with his feet dangling down. Jim faced him, sitting on a Theater chair.

She began to play again. He could tell the second that she lost herself in the music. Her heartbeat slowed considerably and then increased along with the intensity of the song. Her eyes were closed, yet her fingers found the correct keys as if by instinct. He felt his own heartbeat slow as he too became lost in the melody. Tides of color and feeling swept through him as the notes echoed in the empty building.

"Hey, Jim. Jim! Come on, you're zoning, man."

Abruptly the sensation was gone and the starkness of the world returned.

"Jeez Jim-don't scare me like that. You were really losin' it there."

"I can see now why people put up with her. I'd better go take a look

around." He shook his head a bit, clearing it of the after effects of his near zone-out.

Blair nodded. 

He first headed for the back of the Theater. As the distance grew between him and the stage, he found it easier to filter out the sound of her music.

Standing against a side door, he gradually opened his ears. A soft squeaking noise captured his attention first. It sounded like sneakers walking on a floor. Zeroing in, he could hear two heartbeats. Crouching low, he carefully made his way along the wall back towards the stage. As he got closer, he was able to discern that the noise was coming from below. He crept behind the curtain, trying to locate a way down without alerting anyone of his presence. The light was dim behind the stage, but with his sentinel eyesight, he was able to make out a closed trap door towards the back. Easing it open, he crouched down to peer inside. Soft voices became audible.

"You sure that when we fire it'll go all the way through the floor and the bench?"

"I placed that bench exactly where I wanted it. As long as she's sitting on it, she'll die."

"Then we just have to get her out."

"Piece of cake."

Jim heard a click and sprang to his feet. Sprinting across the stage, he grabbed Miss Jardine off the bench and both tumbled onto their sides and rolled off the stage onto the hard floor beneath. While they were sailing in the air, several rounds were pumped through the floor and the bench blew into pieces.

Jim pulled himself to his feet and flung the phone to Blair. "Call Simon and get some back-up."

He pulled his pistol, giving the breech a quick pull to load a round into the chamber, and then raced back to the trap door. He dropped through to the floor underneath and followed the sounds to the gunmen. Suddenly, the men started swearing and running. He picked up speed as he took off after them. Dodging props and furniture thrown in his path, he started closing the distance. Then they turned a corner and ran up some stairs, locking the door behind them. He lost valuable seconds kicking the door down. Their footsteps were still echoing down the hall. Then he heard another door open to the outside. Sprinting as fast as he could, he followed the sound. As he ran through the doorway, he saw an idling car, which the perpetrators jumped into. Tires spun, and it roared off down the road. Standing in the middle of the street, he focused his sentinel eyesight to get at least a description of the car and the license plate number.

With a grunt of defeat and self-recrimination, he returned inside. Sandburg was on the phone still talking with Simon. As Jim walked up to his partner, the phone was handed to him. 

"Yeah, they got away." Jim glanced at Claudia Jardine. He had forgotten her in his pursuit of the suspects. She was sitting on one of the Theater's chairs, looking furious, but holding her tongue, for which he was thankful. He had enough troubles without adding any tirades from her.

"Give me something, Ellison. I gotta have a place to start," his captain's voice echoed with his displeasure.

"Three Caucasians. Two in here, one waiting in a '93 dark blue Ford Mustang, Washington plate number, 1-1-7-M-U-U. I didn't get a look at the driver, but the other two were male, mid-thirties, both had brown hair, one had a mustache. They were tall; one was at least six foot four. They were wearing jeans and cotton button-down shirts."

"Anything else?"

"They used a .44 Magnum pistol. One of them pitched it under the stage. I'll bring it in; maybe there'll be prints."

"Did you see their faces?"

"Very briefly. Not enough to do a composite sketch. It was dark and they were running away from me."

"Fine. I'll start with the car and you find that gun and bring it in."

Jim snapped the phone shut. He turned his attention back to Miss Jardine. "Do you believe in the threat now?"

"I've always believed in the threat. I just refuse to hide away and not live my life as I want."

"Do you want to get shot?"

"Not particularly. I hear it hurts pretty bad."

"It can also kill you."

A peculiar look crossed her face that Jim couldn't interpret. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

II

Simon hung up the phone, then turned to face the computer. How he hated the contraption. Sandburg insisted that next to flush toilets, the computer was man's greatest invention. He violently disagreed.

After calling up Motor Vehicles, he entered the license plate number Ellison had given him. The little hourglass showed up, so he sat back in his chair. Looking out the window, he gazed at the detectives under his command. The bullpen was a hive of activity. Rafe's arms were flailing around, obviously trying to make a point. Taggart and Brown were nodding, lips twitching, hiding their smiles. He wished he had Ellison's hearing so he could share the joke. 

He looked back down at his screen. The Motor Vehicles' logo topped the page and his data was listed at the bottom. The car was registered to Mr. Mark Shuba, age 52. His address was in one of the more affluent suburbs of Cascade. In blinking red letters, the word "stolen" flashed. Simon exhaled in disappointment.

His attention was brought back to the bullpen. Detective Hale was dragging in some punk. The teen was gesturing wildly, his mouth moving as fast as his arms. Simon smiled as Brown went over to help, using his imposing body to its best advantage. The punk quieted somewhat. The captain wondered what the teen had done. He would have liked to go out to see, but he didn't want his officers to think he was checking up on them. His gaze returned to the computer and he pressed the print button. 

A knock sounded at the door, making the captain jump.

"Come in," he yelled, releasing the tension that had been building up. Taggart poked his head in.

"Ellison and Sandburg are downstairs with that woman. They're on their way up, just thought I'd warn you."

He followed Taggart out and took a circulatory route around all the desks. The teen was still seated by Hale's desk and shot him a glare, filled with distrust and bravado, as he walked by. The elevator doors opened and arguing voices greeted the bullpen.

"...Make this quick. I'm hungry and I just want to rest."

Jim smiled sardonically and then turned to Cassie, who had been standing by idly watching. He mumbled a few words and handed her a gun in a plastic bag. Her face lit up and she left.

Blair's voice caught his attention. "Claudia. There's Captain Banks. Let me introduce you."

The kid was practically dragging her towards him. She was about five-five and African American, like himself. Her age was somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five and she had shoulder-length curly hair. At first he only noticed her attractiveness. But then, for some reason, he observed the same expression in her eyes that he had detected in the teen. Distrust and bravado. Why he was granted such insight, he didn't know, but he was sure of his conclusions. Why would she distrust the police? Her life was in danger and they were responsible for protecting her. Did she think they were incompetent?

"Miss Jardine, a pleasure."

She reluctantly took his hand and gave it a limp shake. "Captain."

Well, he had used up his niceness quotient for the day. "Sandburg, keep her company. Ellison, my office."

After closing the door, he retrieved the printout. "Here's the owner of the Mustang. He reported it stolen two days ago. Why don't you go check it out. Leave Miss Jardine here..."

"Are you sure?" His eyes brightened with enthusiasm.

"I need you to play lie-detector. I hate wasting time on dead ends and I'd like to eliminate this guy as soon as possible. Take Rafe. Sandburg and I will escort Miss Jardine back to the hotel. Meet us there."

Luckily Ellison didn't see anything wrong with the suggestion. He should've had Rafe accompany *him* and let Sandburg go with Jim. But he needed Sandburg's conversational abilities to cover up his own inadequacies. She made him nervous. He briefly pondered the reason, then shoved the question aside.

Ellison motioned to Rafe, who quickly joined him. The detective patted Sandburg's shoulder in a reassuring manner. Simon saw Jim bend down to whisper, and then the kid nodded.

"What, abandoning me so soon?" came Claudia's tart reply.

Ellison turned to her and grinned. "Yeah, but I'm leaving you in very capable hands. And to show you what a great guy I am, I'll bring back Chinese for dinner. What d'ya want Chief?"

"Chinese? Take out?" Claudia sounded appalled. "Why can't we go to a nice restaurant?"

"Snipers just love those places. It's where they do their best work," Jim dead-panned.

Simon silently laughed at her chagrined expression. Beneath her fractious behavior he could detect her very real feeling of abandonment. He didn't need this, he told himself sharply. Gathering his things from his office, they went to his car. Politely he opened the passenger door and motioned her inside. She ignored him and got into the back seat. 

"This is more like it."

Sandburg shrugged and hopped into the front. Banks found himself gritting his teeth, doing an Ellison impression.

Simon started the car and drove slowly out of the underground garage. Sandburg turned in his seat so he faced the back. Simon glanced in the rear view mirror. She was looking out the window.

"So what are you going to play at the concert tomorrow night? A concerto, selected pieces?" Sandburg asked.

Still looking out the window, she answered. "I don't know yet. I was going to play soft, romantic selections." Then she turned and looked at them. "But I don't feel like that now. Maybe some Brahms. That certainly fits my mood."

"How long have you been giving concerts?"

"Since I was born."

Undeterred, Sandburg continued his questions. "I've been to many different kinds of concerts. I went to rock concerts with my mother from the time I was born, but now my tastes have grown. I love all kinds of music, from tribal rhythms all the way to classical. I've been to operas and even had tickets to one of your concerts several years ago."

"Really? Did you like it?"

"I couldn't go. My mom flew into town, so I gave my ticket to someone else. But, I'm sure I would've had a good time."

Simon looked back at his passenger. Her eyes were closed and her shoulders sagged. Suddenly they opened and pinned his in the rear-view mirror. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under her gaze.

"Why don't you turn on the radio?" she asked, breaking eye contact. "There must be at least one decent station in this town."

Simon turned on the radio. Easy listening music filled the car. The sound efficiently reduced the ability to talk.

When they got to the hotel, Simon had them go straight up to the room. He nodded to his men stationed outside and in the lobby. The kid carried his ever-present backpack, no doubt filled with lesson plans and papers to grade. No second was ever wasted.

He closed the door to her suite and exhaled deeply. Safe for the moment, at least. His internal solitude was shattered by Claudia's voice.

"I want to clean up a bit, if you don't mind. Getting shot at twice doesn't happen to me every day."

As she walked out of the room, Simon muttered to himself. "Wonder why?"

Sandburg laughed.

"Two days of this." Simon wiped his hand across his forehead. "I'm getting an ulcer already."

III

Jim closed the door to Miss Jardine's suite as Simon left. He regretted that he didn't have any good news for his captain. Shuba had an iron-clad alibi: his car had truly been stolen. The man's heartbeat corroborated his story. Simon declined the invitation to stay, giving an excuse or two, but Jim understood. After just one hour with the prima-donna, he was ready to bail. Rank did have its privileges.

"I'm telling ya Chief, Chinese food has to be nutritious. It's got all these vegetables," Ellison teased his guide, as he handed out the little containers. Both took comfort in their easy banter.

"It's all the oil and MSG that'll kill you."

"Then we shoulda gotten the Wonderburgers."

"Yuk!" Claudia's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Hamburgers are so-so plebeian. If you must have beef, then Bottacelli's prime rib is the way to go."

"That's a little expensive for my wallet," Blair sighed wistfully as he took a pair of chopsticks and unwrapped them.

Jim cuffed him in the head as he reached over for his container. "Red Lobster's too expensive for *your* wallet." He poured the chicken chow mein over his rice.

Claudia spooned her jumbo shrimp with garlic sauce onto her plate and looked disdainfully at Jim's food. "How can you eat something so bland?"

Jim looked up and purposefully took a bite. "I get enough indigestion at work. I don't need to add to it."

Her eyes glittered in anger, but she let the comment slide.

They ate in silence. Blair had turned on the television set earlier, so they sat and listened to the news. Claudia frequently looked at the time, making Jim nervous. She took her last bite and sat back, looking at her watch once more. Like a coiled spring Jim exploded.

"What the hell is going on? If you look at that damned watch one more time…"

"Duncan should be here soon," she interrupted. "I called him in Paris and he said he'd take the next flight out. I'm hoping he's going to walk through the door any minute now."

"No one's gonna just walk in that door. We have men downstairs that prevent anyone from getting up here."

"Then you'd better call and tell them that when Duncan MacLeod gets here, they had better let him up. I won't tolerate anyone keeping my friends away."

Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll need to check him out first."

"Absolutely not! I'll kick all of you out if you interfere in my life like that. I trust Duncan a hell of a lot more than I trust any of you."

Jim jerked the phone out of his pocket and called down to the men monitoring the lobby. "Miss Jardine has requested that a Mr. Duncan MacLeod be allowed up when he arrives."

"Yes, sir."

Jim shut the phone and turned stiffly towards the television, still fuming. At least her manager wasn't a constant thorn in his side. The man had settled into the mayor's house and waited for them to find the assassin. All he had to contend with was this *friend*.

Sandburg grabbed his backpack and carried it over to the table. Emptying its contents, he sat down to work. She looked back and forth between Jim and Sandburg. What did she expect, that they were going to entertain her? Jim refused to consider it. He picked up the remote control and started surfing. Ahhh, football. He nestled into the couch, making a big production of it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Miss Jardine get off the couch and wander over to where Blair was working.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

"I'm going through this book for class."

"You're taking an ancient history class?"

"No, I'm teaching it."

Her eyes widened. "You're an expert in this old stuff?"

Blair looked up at her over the top of his glasses. Jim had to stifle a laugh. Now she would know the real meaning of suffering.

"I'm studying the tribal customs of a settlement in Peru that lived over five hundred years ago."

That was too bad, he was taking it easy on her. There were no large incomprehensible words or long strings of ideas spoken without a breath. Jim shook his head with regret.

"Peru? What about Europe or England? Do you know anything about medieval Scotland?"

"Scotland? No, I can't say I've studied it. Now, there was this one Chopec, hey, where're you going?"

Jim smiled. She'd had enough. He turned his attention back to the game.

She sat down in a chair and pretended to watch the Friday night football game with him. It was obvious that she didn't know one thing about football. Luckily for him, she didn't question him relentlessly about it.

As he sat enjoying the game, he let his senses wander. Focusing his hearing, he listened to his guide. Sandburg was murmuring things to himself as his pen slid across the paper. Next he turned it onto Miss Jardine. She wasn't talking and her heart was beating rhythmically. Then he swept the suite. No hidden noises there.

The score flashed on the screen. Then he heard the elevator start to move. Someone was coming up. He stood up, alert for danger. Miss Jardine gave him a puzzled look, which he ignored. The elevator doors started to open and almost simultaneously, Miss Jardine clutched her head, as if in pain, whimpering softly. 

He heard her mutter under her breath, "When will I get used to this?" 

A knock sounded at the door. Blair looked up.

Jim removed his gun. "I'll get it." 

Claudia stood up. The pain seemed to have disappeared, but she was still pale. Her heart pounded rapidly and her breaths came in quick gasps. It was the first time he had seen evidence of fear in her.

At the closed door, he yelled out, "Ellison here."

"Duncan MacLeod has arrived. I brought him up."

Jim opened the door.

A uniformed officer was standing next to a dark-haired man, whom he presumed to be Miss Jardine's friend. MacLeod looked anxious to come into the room, yet he stayed still, waiting. Ellison took note of the athletic build and the deceptively casual way he stood. He radiated self-confidence and patience. They locked eyes, each taking the measure of the other. Jim reluctantly admitted to himself that the man was formidable. An excellent ally; a deadly enemy. The mutual appraisal was cut short when Claudia pushed him aside and fell into MacLeod's arms. A smile of pure pleasure lit MacLeod's face.

"Oh, Duncan," she cried melodramatically, "thank goodness you're here!" Then she jerked back, her mood abruptly altering. "What happened to all that lovely long, black hair?" she demanded. "Why'd you cut it?"

"Penance," was his enigmatic reply.

Jim nodded to the other officer as he closed the door behind him. He turned back to see MacLeod leading Claudia to the couch. MacLeod was caressing her back and talking soothingly to her. This was not the same woman who had been in their charge all afternoon. Jim marveled at her submissive attitude. 

"Tell me what happened," MacLeod asked softly.

"Someone's trying to kill me," Claudia answered.

"With a gun?" MacLeod asked.

Jim frowned. That was a strange question to ask.

"Yes. But it isn't Walter this time," Claudia said quietly.

"Who's Walter?" Jim interjected.

"A friend," MacLeod answered. Then he turned towards the others. "Before we continue, maybe we should have some introductions."

Jim was missing something in this conversation. If he understood what they were saying, a friend named Walter had tried to kill her with a gun. MacLeod was deliberately offhand about it all. The man was an enigma. He was cultured, and yet Jim's instincts warned him that he was a predator as well. The clothes he wore were expensive, yet his haircut was ragged. His accent was strange. Very European, but not French. It wasn't British either.

She didn't answer.

"Claudia, I would like to know the names of these nice officers," MacLeod repeated.

He was treating her like a child.

"They're not nice," she pouted. "They…"

"Claudia," he said, and a warning edge crept into his voice. The rest of her complaint seemed to die in her throat.

Jim looked at him with even greater respect. Finally, someone who had the upper hand with the prima donna. She'd been acting like a spoiled child all day. Maybe treating her as you would a sulky child who knows better was the way to deal with her.

"Duncan, this is Detective Ellison, and that's Blair something-or-other." She waved a hand in Sandburg's direction.

The two men shook hands. Even though Jim was taller than MacLeod was, somehow he felt smaller. Jim nodded to him. MacLeod smiled, as if he realized how discomfited Jim was by his presence. It made the detective even more uptight, and the fact that he didn't understand where his discomfort originated made him even angrier. 

Then MacLeod shook Blair's hand, too. He glanced down at his books.

"Peru, huh? I visited there once."

There was that secretive smile again. 

"When? What did you see?" Blair asked enthusiastically. 

"It was a long time ago. I was interested in the ruins, although circumstances prevented me from seeing very many of them. I'll have to go back sometime. Ancient history is one of my passions."

"Like medieval Scotland?" Blair asked without guile.

MacLeod's heart started hammering, yet nothing showed on his face. Jim watched the man's every move. Only his heartbeat revealed his anxiety.

Blair kept talking, oblivious to MacLeod's discomfort. "Just before you got here, she asked me if I knew anything about medieval Scotland. I've studied about a lot of places, but not Scotland. Now I understand why she asked, you being Scottish and all. She was probably hoping to dazzle you with some facts…"

MacLeod's heart rate slowed down. If Jim hadn't been a sentinel, he never would have noticed how uncomfortable the stranger had gotten with that innocent remark. It was amazing how the man could hide his emotions so well. Jim's intuition was screaming at him. The only way the man could be so adept at hiding his feelings was if he'd had years of practice. Years and years of practice.

"Detective, maybe you should tell me what you know?" MacLeod asked, focusing his eagle-sharp gaze on him.

Jim jerked to attention. "I assume Miss Jardine told you about the sniper this morning?"

"Yes, she did."

"Well, two men tried again this afternoon while she practicing," he said, and then quickly outlined the events of the afternoon. "Forensics didn't find any prints on the gun. The sniper was in an upper-story room here at the hotel, judging by the trajectory of the bullet. The man who owns the blue Mustang checked out. No prior record and he's an upstanding citizen. We haven't eliminated him, but it doesn't look likely that he was involved. I got a look at the two guys and I'm sure he wasn't one of them."

"What was the car owner's name?"

"Mark Shuba, why?"

"Just curious. So, no other leads?"

"None yet."

"Did you overhear them talking before they ran away?"

"Only that the one man had positioned the bench in the exact position so that when he fired the gun, she'd be dead."

MacLeod and Claudia exchanged a quick look that appeared strangely amused to Jim's eyes, then MacLeod turned to him. "Since I'm here, you two don't need to stay. I'll protect her tonight, but tomorrow we'll need you again."

"She's a visiting celebrity. We can't just pull our men."

"I don't mean that. I mean you personally don't have to stay in her room. Keep watch downstairs, by all means."

"Fine. Chief, get your stuff. We've been relieved."

They rode the elevator down and exited to the truck.

"We're not really gonna leave?" Blair asked him.

Jim smiled. "I'm going to circle around and listen outside her window. I think she's holding something back and is waiting to tell MacLeod in private." He paused, "So what do you think of him?"

"Huh, MacLeod?"

Jim nodded, as he inserted his key in the ignition of the truck.

Sandburg laughed, as he closed his door. "He's just like you. He's got this protective streak a mile wide and right now, he's not sure he trusts you."

Jim was nonplussed. Didn't Blair pick up that he was hiding something? "That's it?"

Blair laughed some more, and Jim turned to glare at him. Then he threw the truck in drive and started towards Miss Jardine's side of the hotel.

"Hey man, it's like some territorial thing between you. MacLeod must somehow threaten your feeling of superiority. He's on your turf and you feel defensive."

His jaw tightened. "That's not it."

He pulled into a parking space below her window. Without being told, Blair put his hand on his shoulder and Jim slowly turned up the dials, while filtering out the everyday noise around him. Then he had her.

"…I'm positive, there was no hint of a presence. I was standing outside and then the bullet whizzed by. There was no warning. And at the Theater, nothing. Ellison said the men were right below me and I didn't feel them at all."

"No headaches, huh? So we could be dealing with an average guy who you've pissed off in some way. *That* really narrows the field down to… everyone you've ever met."

"Except you," she said pointedly.

"Except me." Jim could hear the smile in MacLeod's voice. "Think back. Where were you last?"

"I was in New York City. This is just a spur-of-the-moment side trip. It wasn't on my itinerary at all. The mayor called my manager and they arranged it. They're good buddies, you know."

"Okay, in New York, did you receive any threats?"

"No. I already told the cops that." 

"With the way you're always sniping at people, maybe you offended someone you shouldn't have?"

"No, Duncan, nothing like that." Then she paused. "Honest. I've been a model of decorum."

Jim heard MacLeod laugh.

"What about any ex-lovers?"

"You've got to be kidding. I haven't been on a date in six months."

There was some more talking in a low tone, which he couldn't hear.

"Honest, Duncan." She was pleading.

"Okay, has anyone come close enough to get at you with a blade?"

"No, only the guns."

"Well, as long as they are keeping with the guns you're safe." 

Jim couldn't help but explode. "Safe!? My god, Chief, that MacLeod just told her that as long as the perps stuck to guns, she'd be safe. What kind of crack-pot is he?"

"Maybe you heard it wrong," Blair answered, his hand still steady on Jim's shoulder.

"I know what I heard." Jim was adamant. He redirected his attention upstairs.

"…but Duncan, if I die a public death…oh God, I can't bear to think it."

"Take it one step at a time. I'll be there to help."

"But, to never play the piano again..."

"Don't even think about it now. Why don't you go take a shower and get ready for bed. I'm going to make a few calls and let some people know where I am. I did leave Paris rather suddenly."

There was quiet and Jim could hear MacLeod dialing the phone again. 

"Anything else?" Blair interrupted softly.

"Shhh," Jim commanded.

"Hey Joe, Duncan here."

Jim couldn't hear the other side of the conversation. The phone was too far away even for his ears.

"Check out a Mark Shuba," MacLeod instructed.

There was a pause. MacLeod was having someone check out one of *their* leads, Jim thought incredulously.

"No, as a Watcher." Jim definitely heard the capital 'W'. "Yeah, Claudia is scared, but holding up fine. She's hassling the police, but that's normal for her."

Another pause while Dawson talked.

"Right. No, I'm doing fine. You stay in Paris and I'll call you when I learn anything new. Claudia asked about you."

MacLeod laughed at something the person on the other end of the line said, and then continued.

"No, she liked playing with you. Maybe after her London concerts she'll come to Paris for a little R and R."

How in the hell was this Joe guy supposed to check Shuba out in Paris?

"Bye, Dawson."

Then there was quiet. Claudia came out and said goodnight. She went into the bedroom and Duncan stayed on the couch. It was quiet.

"I guess we can go home now, Chief." Jim started the truck again and pulled out onto the street.

"So, what else did you hear?" Blair asked.

"She really doesn't know who's after her."

"Do you think this Duncan MacLeod is a cop?"

"No," he said thoughtfully, "but he has a contact in Paris who is checking out Mark Shuba."

"The guy who owns that Mustang?"

"Yep."

"You think his contacts are like the CIA or Interpol?"

"Good question. Maybe I should run a check on this Duncan MacLeod and Joe Dawson." Jim paused as he considered the idea. "Yeah, let's go down to the station and run some names through the computer."

Ellison didn't notice Blair's resigned sigh. He parked his truck in the garage and headed for the elevator. Blair hung his backpack over his shoulder and followed alongside him.

The bullpen was almost empty. The only occupant was Hank Fielding at his desk working on some paperwork. It wasn't unusual to see the man working late, since he didn't have any family waiting at home. It was an occupational hazard with police officers; the lack of family or home life.

Blair lugged in his backpack and sat down to do his school notes or something. Jim noticed this absently as he sat down and logged onto his computer. MacLeod had mentioned something about a Walter something-or-other trying to kill her. Too bad he didn't have a last name. Jim typed in Miss Jardine's name, but the only thing that came up were references to her music career. Next he ran Joe Dawson through some international databases. Nothing came up. He wasn't a convicted felon, a wanted man or even in law enforcement. This Dawson was either some top-secret agent, or involved in something illegal. Then again he could be an ordinary citizen, of some country. He retyped Dawson's name in the American database. Bingo. The man owned a bar in Seacouver. 

"Hey, Chief? Didn't you say that you once had tickets for a concert Claudia Jardine was giving?"

"Yep."

"Where?"

"Seacouver."

Well, well, well.

Next he typed in Duncan MacLeod. All the bells and whistles sounded. Jim sat back, pleased with his progress. It took over fifteen minutes to print out the data. With only a glance it seemed that MacLeod had been involved in some questionable circumstances. When Ingrid Henning had been stalking Wilkinson, that neo-Natzi running for the Senate, MacLeod was involved with Inspector Breslaw in his attempts to stop her. Nothing in the write-up said that he and the Inspector were working together, just that MacLeod was around. There was an entry where MacLeod and Special Agent McCormick were working together to try and solve a murder case involving Carl Robinson, the baseball player. On and on the list ran. There was even a blurb on how MacLeod saved the life of Victor Paulus, the famous peace activist, when an unknown assassin stalked him. And now, Duncan MacLeod was right in the middle of another assassination attempt. At least he now knew that MacLeod had experience in this kind of situation. What made it more interesting was that each of the entries occurred in Seacouver.

He tried MacLeod's name in the International database, and a sheet almost as long came out of there, too. Several documented cases in England, but the majority were located in Paris. MacLeod never had a legitimate reason for his involvement, yet he seemed to be underfoot quite a lot of the time. Just like now.

Jim grabbed the print-out and called to Blair. "Let's go, Chief."

"So now what?" Blair looked up at him from above his glasses.

"We go home, get some rest, and start again tomorrow."

The two men made their way back to the truck. Jim handed the print-out to Blair so he could look it over while he drove them to the loft. When they arrived, he tossed his jacket onto the couch and made for the kitchen. 

"Want a beer?" Jim asked Blair as he opened the fridge.

"Sure," Blair replied as he sat on the couch, still reading through the papers Jim had printed out.

"I think MacLeod and I ought to work on this together," Jim announced as he sat beside his guide.

"Together? You think that's possible." Jim could hear the sarcasm in Blair's voice.

"I'll have to keep an eye on him anyway. Better to keep him close, and if he does have contacts that can give him information, I want to know what they give him."

Blair nodded, looking serious. "Did you notice in this how he seems to be in Seacouver for six months to a year and then Paris for the same amount of time?

"Really?" How had he missed that?

"Also, nothing is on this sheet before 1992, yet he was living in Seacouver since the 80s. What changed in '92?"

Jim shrugged his shoulders in puzzlement.

Part II

I 

The Highlander didn't sleep. He rested, with his eyes closed, while he sifted through everything he had learned. Even though Walter was the last one to have wanted to kill Claudia, he was pretty sure that he wasn't involved this time. Possibly another immortal was using mortals to capture her, but that didn't make sense either. Claudia didn't even know how to use a sword. That wasn't much of a challenge, for even the most unskilled swordsman. If it was another immortal, why didn't they just openly challenge her?

Around and around it went. The only conclusion he came up with was that he'd have to work with the detective, Ellison. He needed to know everything the police knew in order to stay one step ahead of them. Especially if it turned out that an immortal was threatening Claudia. Then Duncan smiled; Ellison's partner was interesting. Judging from first impressions, he never would have picked those two to work together. Yet they did. Sandburg was interested in ancient civilizations. Wonder what brought them together?

Then there was Ellison himself. Here was a man used to taking charge, to knowing exactly what was going on. He had sharp eyes; Duncan had seen them narrow after Blair made that innocent remark about Scotland. He must have given off some subtle clue that the question had made him uncomfortable. The man almost seemed to be able to read minds; or body language. He was pretty good at that himself. Four hundred years had given him a lot of practice. It was going to be an interesting couple of days.

When the sun poked in through the curtains, Duncan went to take his shower. Feeling more refreshed, his stomach reminded him that it had been too long since his last meal. Claudia was still sleeping, but he knew the smell of coffee would wake her. With that thought in mind, he ordered breakfast. 

When it arrived, he tipped the waiter, and went to Claudia's room. He waved a mug of the hot brew under her nose. "Come on sleepy head. Rise and shine."

She mumbled something and buried herself deeper into the covers.

Duncan laughed and took the coffee back into the living room. It took at least five more minutes before its aroma got to her.

"Any left for me?" she asked, stumbling out into the living room.

"Sure, help yourself." Her disheveled appearance made him smile. Then the room started to blur. He blinked his eyes, as a feeling of dizziness assailed him. 

"Wait!" he told her urgently. "Don't eat anything." His breathing became rapid and he began to perspire. 

Her voice faded into the background. "Duncan. Dun…"

Blackness. Death.

Gasp. Someone was caressing his face.

"Duncan, you died. Someone tried to poison me!" 

"Easy Claudia. Give me a minute." Duncan sat up, realizing he must have fallen to the floor. He took some deep breaths trying to regain his equilibrium. "Has anyone tried to get into the room while I was out?" 

"No. It's been quiet. You weren't dead for very long." She was still kneeling at his side.

"Whoever it is, really wants you *mortally* dead. Now they're trying poison." Duncan slowly raised himself into the chair once more. Claudia held his arm, giving him little help.

"Thanks. Why don't you go back and sit down." 

She did as he asked, still wailing, and flapping her arms. "What if I had eaten that stuff in front of Detective Ellison? Oh God, Duncan. What am I going to do?"

"Nothing. This was an *attempt*. We didn't eat the food, so we didn't die."

"But you ate two eggs and a piece of toast."

"I'll have to cover that up, and we still have to tell the police about this so they can investigate the cooks and busboys and other personnel."

"I would think that the hotel wouldn't hire someone new when a famous guest is staying there."

"Claudia? How much advance warning did you give them?" 

"Okay, not much. The mayor called my manager and set this thing up just last week. But that means that whoever did this must have been a new hire. *That* should narrow the field down."

He thought more about it as he cleaned up all evidence that he'd eaten any of the breakfast. Taking a deep breath, he called the police to notify them of the *suspected* poison.

Detective Ellison and Blair Sandburg showed up fifteen minutes later.

"So you think someone's messed with your food?" Ellison asked, all business.

Then his nose started twitching and he walked over to the table. He put on latex gloves and pulled out several bags. Twice he blinked. Duncan watched, mesmerized by the detective's actions. It reminded him of a bloodhound on a scent. Sandburg stayed still, next to the door, not helping at all. Not much of a partner. When Ellison finished, he walked over to Duncan.

"I think you're right. There *is* poison in your food. Are you sure you didn't eat any?"

"Positive," Duncan affirmed.

Ellison's nose twitched again. "If you did, you really should go to the hospital and get checked."

"I'm fine. I think if I'd had any of it, I'd be dead by now, don't you think?"

"Yes," he said hesitantly. "Did Miss Jardine eat any?"

Claudia had hung back. Duncan could tell she was still shaken. With hardly a tremor in her voice, she answered the detective herself. "I'd just woken up when Duncan told me of his suspicions."

Duncan gave her a mental pat on the back. Good response. She didn't lie, yet she didn't reveal the truth either. He turned his attention back to Ellison and groaned in disappointment. The detective's body language was telling Duncan that he didn't buy it.

"But," Ellison continued to address MacLeod, "even a little can make you very sick. I think you should go and let a doctor look at you."

"I," Duncan said sternly, "think you should go have the food analyzed and check out the staff here. Someone working at this hotel must be involved."

"Riiiight." Ellison stood back. "We'll be back as soon as we've delivered this to forensics. Meanwhile, there's two officers stationed outside this door. No one is to come in."

Duncan breathed easier after the detective left. "He's good, Claudia. We're going to have to stay alert to stay one step ahead of him."

"My concert's tonight. When it's over, let's just fly to London and leave this creep behind."

"No. We have to stay here till we find out who's doing it. Ellison is sharp, and if this situation has nothing to do with the game, he's more likely to find your creep. Running away won't solve anything."

Claudia sighed. "I'm hungry, but I'm afraid to eat."

"When they get back, we'll all go to breakfast."

Claudia showered and dressed and was waiting with Duncan in the living room part of the suite when Ellison and Sandburg came back.

"I want you to take us to breakfast," she demanded.

"Claudia," Duncan said, an edge creeping into his voice. 

Claudia didn't look at him, but she winced a little. Then she cleared her throat and started again. "Detective Ellison, could you please take us someplace to eat?"

"Okay," he responded absently.

Duncan looked up at Ellison, and the man was looking at him peculiarly.

"Is something the matter?"

"You're keeping something from me," Ellison told him pointedly.

"Nothing important." Duncan was beginning to worry that he wouldn't be able to pull this off.

"So you say." The detective wasn't convinced. 

"I think we should work together." Duncan figured he'd take a more conciliatory approach. "We both want to keep Claudia safe."

"But, you don't trust the police enough to give me all the facts."

"It has nothing to do with trust. If I had *useful* information, believe me, I would give it to you."

The detective nodded, but he still looked suspicious. "I met up with Captain Banks when I took the sample of the hotel food to forensics. We switched vehicles and agreed to meet at the restaurant in an hour. Sandburg figured that you'd still need breakfast, and we haven't eaten either. After that, Simon'll go with Miss Jardine back to the hotel while we check some leads."

Duncan smiled at the detective. So, he had already considered the option of them working together. This situation must be very irritating for him. Was Blair going to accompany them or return to the hotel?

The trip to the restaurant was uneventful. The waitress set down their food and Claudia dug in. Duncan's stomach was still a little queasy, no doubt psycho-somatic.

"So tell me Blair, what interests you about Peru?"

The fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "I research tribal customs." 

Duncan wasn't fooled. This boy was a talker, but for some reason he was holding back. Why? "I'm also very interested in Peru. I know there are tribes living there now that haven't changed in hundreds of years. They are completely self-sufficient, and innocent of modern ways."

Sandburg's eyes brightened. "I've visited some of them. It is amazing how western culture just passes them by. They still grow their own food, make their own medicine and practice the religions of their ancestors."

"Yeah, like the Moche," Duncan said quietly to himself. How he hated Larca for keeping that tribe as slaves. Their whole existence had revolved around worshiping him. 

"So, why did you become interested in the Incan ruins?" Blair asked him.

"I try to travel all over the world. Every society has something to teach us if we're willing to listen."

"Where've you been?"

Duncan laughed. What should he tell the boy? Claudia was even looking interested. 

"Mostly the Far East. I studied with some monks in Tibet, and recently I was in a monastery in Mongolia." His voice cracked in pain. Now he knew why the boy intrigued him so much. Blair reminded him of Richie; so eager, so full of life. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. With outer calm, he tried to regain his inner balance. Ellison was looking at him steadily again. He had uncanny instincts in recognizing his discomfort.

"All the places, are they religious in nature?" Blair asked.

"No, not all. But it does seem that enlightenment comes from searching through your soul and a church is the best place to do that." Then he laughed. "They also have the best libraries."

The door blew open and all heads turned. Ellison stood up. Blair didn't. Interesting.

"Hello, Captain."

"Sit, Ellison." He waved to the waitress. "I'll have coffee, please."

"MacLeod, this is Captain Simon Banks. Simon, this is Duncan MacLeod."

The two men shook hands.

"Well, the food was definitely poisoned. And," Simon paused, "there was an attempt this morning to gain access to your room. Two men tried to sneak in from the staff entrance in the back. They dressed as bell-hops and took some stairs to the tenth floor and then tried to get onto an elevator to your top floor suite."

"You have them in custody?" MacLeod asked eagerly.

"Unfortunately not. We were able to prevent them the access, but they got away. One uniform is in the hospital with a gunshot wound, but he's going to be fine."

The captain paused, waiting as the waitress set his coffee on the table. As she glided away, he continued. "Also, Shuba's daughter turned up dead this morning."

Claudia and Blair gasped. 

"How?" Ellison asked.

"Floated in. Got a call from Pier 23. Some fishermen hooked it. Scared the shit out of them when they started pulling her up. Shuba's been in my office blaming us for not doing anything and finding his car after it was involved in the murder attempt. You sure, Ellison, that there wasn't a female involved?"

"She could've been the driver, but I doubt it. The person behind the wheel was tall. His, or her, head was very close to the roof of the car. Was the dead woman very tall?"

"No, she was average in height. Had an interesting tattoo on her wrist. Looked like a 'V' with a circle around it," Banks added.

Duncan tried to school his reaction, but his heart was thumping in his chest. A Watcher? Joe hadn't gotten back to him yet. Ellison was staring at him again. 

"I also got the report back on the gun you found. No prints, but there was steel-jacketed ammunition in the clip."

Jim whistled. "Heavy duty stuff. They weren't kidding around. To be as accurate as he needed to be, the assassin must have been lying down, pointing the gun up, even with the piano bench stationed as it was."

Claudia groaned. "There wouldn't been much left of me afterwards."

MacLeod patted her back, reassuringly.

Simon finished the last of his coffee and stood up. "Sandburg, you coming with us, or going with Jim?"

"I've got to get to the University. I've got a class to teach today, and office hours during lunch. I'll catch up with you guys later." He paused. "Unless you need me, Jim. I can get someone to replace me."

"I'll be fine, Chief. Do your teaching thing and give me a call when you're done."

"Teaching?" Duncan asked. "I thought he was your partner?"

Ellison looked at him. "He is. He just has other duties, too." Then Ellison closed up. 

Interesting. They had secrets, too. A partner who taught at the University. Blair implied that Ellison might *need* him. Duncan glanced at Banks. And whatever the secret was, the captain was in on it.

Ellison led him to his truck. "Do you want to take a look at the body? You seemed interested when the captain mentioned it."

"Yes, I would like to." He was actually anxious to do so.

Was that tattoo really a Watcher one? Were there any Watchers on the Cascade police force? Duncan wasn't sure if that would complicate matters or make them easier.

The trip to the morgue was uneventful. The doctor pulled the sheet back and Duncan admitted truthfully that he didn't know the young woman. She looked about twenty-five, and on her wrist was the Watcher tattoo. He needed to call Joe.

"Detective, would you mind excusing me? I need to make a phone call."

"No problem. We'll go upstairs so you can use the one on my desk."

"Thanks."

Ellison left him at his desk, went over to another desk and sat down in the chair. Duncan took out his phone card and put in the ID numbers for an overseas call. He glanced over at the detective, but he seemed to be reading something. It was nice of him to give him the privacy without him even asking for it. He dialed Joe's number.

"Yeah, Dawson here."

"Joe, it's me. Did you find out anything on that name I gave you?"

"Hi, Mac. He's nothing, but his daughter's a Watcher. Her assignment is Alicia Manning. She came over to the States about three weeks ago. I don't have anything else."

"The daughter, Joan, is dead. Could Manning have done it?"

"She's dead!!??"

"She was found this morning; fished out of the bay. Somehow this is all connected. Someone tried to kill Claudia and used Shuba's car as a get-a-way. Then we find out Shuba is, or rather was, Manning's Watcher and that she's now dead. Tell me about this Alicia Manning."

"I'll have to look her up. The only thing I remember is that she's not very old. I've got someone picking up Joan's chronicles. We should know more after we've read them."

"All right, Joe. Keep me posted."

"MacLeod?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch your head."

"Bye, Joe."

Jim went over to where MacLeod was sitting. "Did you get anything?" the detective asked.

"Possibly. Let's check out your leads first."

"Fine."

Their first stop was the hotel.

As they walked into the lobby, Ellison asked him in an off-hand manner, "So what does the tattoo mean?"

Duncan felt his heart plummet.

Ellison pressed. "I know you recognized it. What does it mean?"

MacLeod took a deep breath. "I have no idea how that girl was involved. She belonged to a group of, ah, scholars who write histories." That was mostly the truth. 

"If she was a scholar, what could she have been working on that was so sensitive?"

"That's what we've got to figure out."

They came up to the front desk and Ellison flashed his badge and demanded to talk to the manger. Duncan backed up a little and perused the lobby. He pretended to listen to what Ellison and the manager were talking about, but his mind was cataloging all the occupants. No one was paying them the slightest attention.

"MacLeod? You ready to go?"

"Yes. Of course. Did he tell you anything?"

"No one new has been hired in the last three weeks."

"A dead end."

Ellison nodded. "I'll get some uniforms to question everyone on the staff here, but…"

"I understand. It's a needle in a haystack. Do you mind waiting while I use the phone again?"

Ellison smiled. "Please do. I'll wait here till you're done."

Duncan walked to the pay phones and made a trans-Atlantic call to Joe. As he was punching in the numbers, he noticed the manager go over to talk to Ellison again. The detective flashed him an angry glare, then turned his attention to what the hotel official had to say.

"Hey, Dawson. Find anything else out?"

"Her chronicles are gone."

"Gone?" He paused, catching his breath. "Gone as in can't find them, or gone, as in stolen."

"Stolen. My man said that her hotel room had been trashed, her hard drive erased, and her briefcase was open and empty."

"What about her parents? Maybe she sent something to her father, or…"

"You're assuming that she had advanced warning."

"What did her last report say?"

"Manning took a head four months ago in Moscow. A young violinist…"

"How young?" Duncan interrupted.

"Very. Before that, she took the head of a ballet dancer in Paris, and before that, a poet. Alicia Manning seems to have a penchant for young artistic geniuses."

"Like Claudia." Duncan's apprehension increased.

"Like Claudia," Joe repeated

"Does she always use help to catch her victims?"

"Not always, but she's a beautiful woman. Men are always eager to help her, no matter what her payment plan is. What are you going to do now?"

"I'm working with a police detective. It's going to be hard to keep him from finding the truth, protect Claudia and deal with this Manning woman all at the same time."

"Good luck, Mac. If I find what happened with Manning's Watcher, I'll let you know."

"Make sure the replacement is careful. I'd hate to have to explain another Watcher death to this detective. Bye, Joe."

Duncan slowly hung up the phone. How was he going to tackle this? He left the phone booth as the manger shook his head and retreated. "Did he add anything important?"

"A certain employee didn't punch in this morning, yet several co-workers saw him. He was the one who brought the tray up to your room. He's missing now. His physical description matches one of the men I saw under the stage." He paused for effect. "So did *you* learn anything?"

"A name, Alicia Manning. I think she may be behind the young woman's murder. I don't know if she has anything to do with the attempts on Claudia's life." MacLeod was curious to see where the detective went with that information.

"I'll have Simon run the name through." Ellison stared at him intently. "This group of scholars," he paused, "are you one of them?"

MacLeod grinned sardonically. "No, I am definitely *not* a member." I'm barely tolerated, he added to himself. "So where to now?" he asked the detective, hoping to change the subject.

"I'm thinking a trip to the dead woman's father's house. I'd like to ask him about the tattoo and if she had left anything with him."

"Like what?"

"Books. Notes. Whatever she was working on may have gotten her killed. You did say that she was a historian."

That I did, MacLeod thought to himself. But he knew that they wouldn't find anything.

II

The police captain opened the door, and she preceded him into her room. She really wished Duncan was here instead of this cop. She felt exposed and powerless. If some immortal came after her now, she would die and so would the cop. Her fingers itched. How she wished there was a piano in the suite.

The captain followed her in and sat down on the couch. He didn't say anything to her, and she couldn't think of anything to say to him, either. A melody formed in her mind, and its message became louder and louder. The outside world retreated, and she sank onto a chair and let it run through her. The emotion of fear was sparking her creativity, and she could hardly grasp the notes as they sang in her mind.

A soft knock at the door barely penetrated the internal song. Her fingers tapped the melody on her legs, as if her skin were the keys. 

"You okay?"

The voice shattered the inspiration and left her dazed, for a moment. Then fury took over and she jumped to her feet. Her nose was even with the middle of his chest and she had to tilt her head up to vent her frustration.

"What in the hell did you do that for? I had the beginnings of a concerto,"

He put an electronic keyboard into her hands. She blinked in surprise.

"I had one of my men pick this up for you. Thought it might help you pass the time until you go on tonight." He turned around and sat back on the couch.

She didn't know what to say. He wasn't looking at her. She ran her hands over the keys, almost caressing them. 

"You have to plug it in to get any sound out of it."

She stiffened. "I know that." She didn't feel off balance anymore. Now she was irritated. 

She set the keyboard down on the chair and unraveled the cord. She felt his eyes on her the whole time. Couldn't he stand outside the door? Like in the hall? Or better yet, in the lobby downstairs.

She went back to the chair and started picking out the music inside her head once again. The single note melody from before was transformed, when both hands were on the keys. When she needed an octave above the keyboard's range, she became flustered and then agitated. What she needed was paper to write the notes down on so she wouldn't forget them. She carefully set the instrument down and went into her room to find the specially lined paper.

She wrote down notes as fast as they came into her head. The captain stayed on the couch, although he got up once to turn on the television. 

The suddenness of the cell phone ringing shattered her concentration. "Damnation!" 

Banks answered it.

"Yeah, Ellison?" The captain barked into the mouthpiece.

He was quiet as he listened.

"We're fine here. Things have been pretty quiet."

There was another pause.

"Really," he turned and looked at her. He was scowling, which looked like a common expression for him.

"You check it out and then come back here directly after. I'll get on this right away."

He hung up the phone.

She glared at him, yet he didn't say anything more. "Well, aren't you going to tell me what he said?"

"They questioned some people here and didn't get any leads. Now they're going back to the dead woman's parent's home to question them some more."

"Why?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know," he barked. "I'm here with you." 

She stiffened from his verbal attack. It sounded as if he resented being here with her. Well, she sure as hell resented being cooped up with him, too.

He went over to his laptop computer, and tapped some stuff in and grunted periodically. She wanted to get up and take a look at what he was doing, but from what his body language was telling her, no way.

Suddenly, he closed the computer, got up and started pacing around the room. She followed his movements with her eyes, yet he didn't take the hint and tell her what was going on in his mind. His edginess was getting to her. The music was gone from her head, and that fact frustrated her even more. She stood up and started to carry the keyboard over to the table when the presence of an immortal slammed into her. The instrument clattered to the table and she put her hands to her temple. Damn, she knew it couldn't be Duncan because he was out with that cop.

"Captain, someone's coming, and it's not the good guys." The pain was blinding.

Banks withdrew his gun and made sure it was loaded. She didn't have the heart to tell him that the gun would be useless. Why didn't he call for back-up? Didn't he believe her? A body fell outside the door, and then it was too late. 

Banks turned towards the door and aimed his gun, but the presence was coming from…the window. Just as the door flew open, a body on a rope crashed through the glass. She heard a shot, but her focus was on the woman who came to a halt before her. She was dressed in skin-tight leggings and a T-shirt. A very satisfied smile lit her face as she brought her sword out from behind her back. She resembled a cat who had just cornered her mouse. Claudia wanted to turn and see what condition the police captain was in, but she dared not.

"I've been listening to your latest composition. Not bad."

Then she felt a bullet rip into her back. Blackness descended.

Part III

I 

Jim Ellison navigated the streets of Cascade, lost in thought. Mr. Mark Shuba hadn't given them anything to go on. He had told them that he hadn't known about his daughter's tattoo, and his heart rate had corroborated his story. With permission, Jim had searched the woman's childhood room but found nothing pertaining to the case. She hadn't sent her father anything in the mail and he had promised to notify them if something arrived in the future. Throughout the interview, Duncan MacLeod had been quiet. His eyes had darted everywhere, but he hadn't contributed. Jim had a feeling that this was out of character for the other man. 

"Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Shuba," Jim had said sincerely.

"Have you checked out the rooming house?"

Jim's eyes had narrowed. "Pardon?"

"Joan was staying at this place in the city. She came to borrow my car when she first came into town a few weeks ago, then she returned it. I never saw her again, 'til I had to identify her body in the morgue." His voice had cracked in pain.

Armed with the address, the two men headed to what had been Joan Shuba's temporary home. The land lady greeted them at the door.

"You want to see it again? I was told that someone would be in to clear it all away this morning. That would be you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jim responded.

She unlocked the door and they found a completely empty room. Everything had been removed. Jim walked into the room, focusing his eyes in all the hiding places he could fathom. Nothing remained. He opened his sense of smell, and the faint aroma of aftershave hung in the air. They were too late. As Jim turned around to leave, he caught MacLeod's look. The condition of the room was not a surprise to him. He had expected it.

Now, they were on their way back to the hotel and Jim felt the mystery surrounding his companion had something to do with the case. He just couldn't put his finger on the connection. The Watchers had come to clear out the room. Jim was positive of this. What kind of organization were they? They had to be international. Dawson was in France, yet he was able to direct situations in Cascade. Was their function to go after hired assassins? Miss Jardine did say that she felt more secure with MacLeod than anyone else. He must have experience protecting her. Of course there was Walter, the friend. 

He had tried all morning to get a glimpse of MacLeod's wrist. When he did, he saw it was bare of any trace of a tattoo. That corroborated MacLeod's story of not belonging to the group of "historians". He wasn't sure if he bought that story, either. They didn't seem to operate as if they were biographers. 

"Well, MacLeod, what's your opinion of all this?"

The man slowly looked over at him. "They'll have to make another move soon. Her concert is tonight. After that we'll be gone."

"You think they wanna kidnap her?"

"No. They want to kill her. But on their terms, on their own turf, so to speak."

"After they kidnap her, how long do you think she'll have before they take her life?"

MacLeod looked grave. "Not long."

As soon as they entered the hotel, Jim knew something was wrong. The smell of blood assaulted his nostrils. Fresh blood. He quickened his pace and turned the corner towards the elevators. No guards. He pushed the up button and two doors opened, revealing a dead man in one elevator. The man hadn't been dead for longer than ten or fifteen minutes, judging by the heat remaining in his body. Rushing into the other, he pulled out his cell phone and called it in. MacLeod pushed the penthouse button and the doors closed. The small compartment seemed even closer, with the smell of death smothering the sentinel. Simon had been alone with Miss Jardine. 

Ignoring the other man, he rushed out as soon as the elevator opened, gun drawn.

MacLeod put his hand on Jim's shoulder and said briskly, "It's too late. She's not in there." 

Ellison flashed him an irritated look, then concentrated his hearing inside the room. No heartbeats. The subtle whiff of Simon's cigars met him, and then the metallic smell slammed him. MacLeod was right. They were too late. He momentarily closed his eyes, and then opened the door. 

Three more officers were on the floor, dead by gunshot. He released the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. Simon or Miss Jardine might still be alive. He wrapped himself in professional detachment and went to work. A faint trail of blood led from the door to the bodies. They had been dragged in. Carefully, he stepped over the corpses and perused the room. The picture window was smashed. As he made his way over to the window, he could see glass covering the floor. Something had come in through it. He leaned out and could see a rope dangling from the roof. Did they come in through the window and leave through the door? No. That didn't add up, because the bodies were dragged in. Maybe there were two fronts, one from the window and one from the door, and then they all left through the door. 

He continued cataloguing the evidence. Had Simon been killed? He carefully opened up his sense of smell, instantly shuddering at the barrage of scents. Where the hell was Sandburg?! Oh yeah, at the University. Sandburg's voice echoed within his mind, giving him direction and control. Slowly, he let the varied scents reach his brain. He filtered out the known ones. The ever-present cigar smell was there. Jardine's floral scent was also present, but there was another as well. More musky. He let his thoughts drift for a second, trying to pin a name on it. Then he felt a slap on his back, jarring his attention back to the room.

"Detective? Are you all right?"

"Huh? Yeah, MacLeod, just thinking."

"I can see a puddle of blood in the center of the carpet. Do you think it's your Captain's?"

Jim followed the line of where MacLeod was pointing. He took out a pair of latex gloves and put them on. Standing above the pool, he opened his sense of smell. The blood didn't belong to Simon. In fact, he didn't smell Simon's blood at all in the room. But the blood did have a strange odor. He couldn't place it. It wasn't a chemical. It smelled more like ozone, or something that had been fried by an electrical surge. No, that wasn't it either. It was more metallic; like blood, but not. He bent down and collected a sample. Let the labs figure it out.

"I don't think the blood belongs to Simon." He spoke slowly as he tried to work out possible scenarios. "It could possibly belong to Miss Jardine, but I don't think either of them were killed here."

MacLeod nodded his head as if he agreed.

"But why not?" Jim thought out loud. "If the murder of Claudia Jardine is the motive, why didn't they do it when they broke in? Why kidnap them?" 

"I don't know," MacLeod answered.

Ellison looked at him sharply. He was lying. Slowly, he returned to his perusal of the room. What was he missing? The seconds were ticking by, and he didn't even know where to begin.

The elevator squeaking on its pulleys reminded him that his sense of hearing was still partially open. Turning the dial down, as Sandburg was constantly prompting him to, he waited for the passengers to disembark. Jim gave a sigh of relief as Sandburg entered the room. His guide paled as he stepped wide around the bodies, but his eyes were centered on Jim.

"I'm so sorry, man. I should have been here for you."

"I handled it, Chief."

"They're not here?"

"No, but we think they're still alive." He cast a quick look at MacLeod, but the man's face was closed to him.

Jim went over to the lap top. Simon had done some searches for Alica Manning, but they had all come up empty. Forensics was all over the room now. With any luck, they'd find something he'd missed. Maybe the blood sample would yield something.

"Let's go back to the station." Jim couldn't think of what else to do. Frustration gnawed at him. They were powerless until they discovered where Simon and Miss Jardine had been taken. Sandburg patted him on the shoulder, and he felt his jaw unclench slightly. He gave his partner a weak smile.

II

Simon's body screamed at him as he became more aware of his surroundings. His hands were tied behind his back, his feet were likewise tied, and his back was to a wall. Slowly, he raised his head to look around. His eyes were gritty, but soon tears filled them as the pain from his head almost overwhelmed him, sending him back to darkness. Forcing himself to breathe slowly, he clung to consciousness until he could handle the pain. He willed his head up and his eyes open.

Claudia Jardine was tied up as well, but she looked alert. Where he felt pain everywhere, she looked…whole. Relief filled him as he realized that she hadn't been hurt after all. Through the haze, he thought he remembered that she had been shot. Obviously, he was wrong.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, wincing as he spoke.

She looked over at him. "Couple of hours. They knocked you pretty hard."

That was an understatement.

"Then *she* flew in through the window," Claudia continued.

Ahh, the sniper. "Do you know her?"

"Never met her before in my life." Then she muttered to herself, "My very short life."

He didn't understand what she meant, so he chose to ignore it. He took a look around him. The room they were in was clear of any furniture, and as there weren't any windows, he reasoned that it must be an interior room. They were sitting on carpet, but it felt like the kind used in cheap hotels or department stores. The room was barren of any decorations, and even his rustling echoed within the empty space. He didn't think it was someone's home, but he had no idea what kind of place it was.

Claudia was struggling with the bonds around her wrist, but judging by the frustration on her face, she wasn't getting anywhere. Suddenly she stopped, squinted, and then bowed her head. She looked like she was in pain. Then the door opened and Simon turned to look as a slim, brown-haired woman entered. She wore blue jeans, a rugby shirt, and, of all things, a long beige trench coat. 

Then she glanced over at him. He was riveted by her ice blue eyes. Despite their chilling effect on him, he could tell that she was happy and excited. She was almost twitching in anticipation.

"I see your friend is awake," she said to Claudia.

"What do you need him for?"

"I don't know. Something to relieve the boredom? A hostage to use in case of an emergency? Maybe he's just a treat for my men to play with."

The two women's eyes were locked. Neither paid *him* the slightest attention.

The woman continued. "Do you have any music running through that brain of yours?"

Her eager maliciousness intensified.

"Not really," Claudia responded.

"That's too bad. It might have bought you some time before I took your quickening."

'What the hell was a quickening?' Simon thought to himself. It didn't look like she carried anything in with her. Yet, it had to be here or else that threat wouldn't have had the same impact.

She drew a sword out from inside her coat. Claudia started struggling harder. This amused the woman. Slowly, she walked over to where Claudia sat.

"Do you feel inspiration hitting you yet? A melody of death?" She paused and then leaned into Claudia's face. "Do you feel mortal?" Her voice became progressively more harsh.

The woman backed up slightly. She ran her sword up Claudia's arm and over her shoulder, resting it against her neck. Neither moved. Claudia turned her head away, and sat rigidly against the wall.

"Do you know who I am?" The voice was harsh and demanded attention.

Simon found himself answering, "Alicia Manning," trying to gain some control over what was going on around him.

The woman swiveled sharply. "Another damned Watcher." Simon felt her cold, calculating eyes size him up. Frustration made him struggle with his bonds once more.

A smile of enjoyment erased the calculation in her eyes as she turned once more to Claudia. "Another damned Watcher," she repeated, ignoring him. 

"What do you mean? He's the captain of the Cascade Police Department whose job is to protect me."

"How clever of you." She tilted her head in a mock salute.

Simon couldn't tell to whom she was referring. Manning was looking at Claudia, yet he thought her comment might pertain to him.

"So what now?" he asked, trying once again to redirect her attention to him and away from Claudia.

She blinked and stepped back. "Very good question, Captain." 

Manning went to the door and yelled out. "Hey, Larry! Get a move on!" She stood at the door while a man brought in a cart with a keyboard and reams of paper and pencils. 

Simon watched the proceedings with interest; the possibility for an escape attempt had just increased. Could he pick a lock with a sharpened pencil? The man left the cart by the wall and stood motionless beside it. His open flannel shirt parted slightly, revealing a holster.

Manning's sword was gone when he turned back towards her. She spared him a quick glance and then focused on Claudia. "You see, I'm a repository for artistic genius. I have taken the heads of some of the greatest dancers, painters, and composers in the world. And soon I will add yours to the mix." She grinned. "But first, I'm offering to let you compose your last concerto. The last masterpiece by Claudia Jardine, but, ah," she giggled, "you'll be too dead to perform it in public."

The woman was insane. Simon sifted through his mind, looking for some kind of an escape plan. He wiggled his wrists, but the ropes were very snug. The abrasions were getting raw. He swore he could feel blood in his hands. The pounding in his head had subsided a little, but his eyes still burned. He must be suffering from the after-effects of some kind of sedative.

She waved her arm, pointing out the accoutrements on the cart. "Compose your little heart out. As long as you write, you stay in one piece. When you finish, I'll challenge you fair and square." Then she laughed. "Have you ever even lifted a sword? Rumor has it that you refused to let the Highlander teach you anything. I thank you for this easy victory."

Still laughing, she opened the door. "I'll leave you to your work."

"You'll have to untie me first."

"You're right. My apologies."

The man with the cart, Larry, brought out a gun and aimed it at Simon. Manning went around and untied her.

"Don't try anything. And if you do," she glanced over to Simon. "He dies first."

Then the two of them walked out. Claudia stood up and stretched. Slowly, she came over to Simon and untied him.

"Captain Banks. Do as she says and don't try anything. I made my bed, I'll just have to lie in it."

"I'm not going sit here and do nothing. There *is* a means of escape, I just have to find it."

"Don't. She's not kidding about killing you."

"She's going to kill me anyway. Our only chance is to get out of here."

Claudia nodded, but Simon had a feeling she was just placating him. She took the keyboard off of the cart, carried it to a corner and plugged it in. Running her fingers over the keys, melodies emerged that brought a smile to her face, but were just notes to him. It irritated him that she was able to lose herself so easily when their lives were on the line. 

He eased himself down to lie flat on the ground, and slowly stretched his back. He was sore all over. His head had a knot on it where someone had hit him and probably knocked him out. The rest of his body was okay, but his wrists were still bleeding. Sitting up, he tore a strip from his undershirt and wrapped it around the abrasions. The blood seeped into the linen. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the fogginess threatening his concentration, and then stood back up. He had to keep moving.

He ran through his options. When one of the men came back, he could jump him, take his gun and push his way out. If he were alone he would try it, but with a woman in the picture, it didn't look promising. Jim might find him. Considering MacLeod's sources and Jim's sentinel abilities; that might be their best hope. However, he wasn't one to just wait. Slowly, he paced around the room hoping for inspiration.

He took a couple of the pencils and tried to stick one in the lock. The point broke off. He pushed the pencil in further, but he couldn't spring the lock. Frustrated, he started pounding on the walls, listening for a hollow sound. Maybe he could kick in a wall. He was kidding himself. There was no way he could escape without getting them both killed. 

The music poured forth from the keyboard. Occasionally, she would stop and write things down. Eventually, Simon realized that he was hearing the same melody over and over, but done in different notes. He glanced over, and saw frustration eating away at her. Maybe the muse wasn't being as cooperative as she wanted. 

Boom! Her hand slammed down on the keys. "I can't get it right!" 

She threw the pencil across the room, then she, too, started pacing. And rambling. Simon stopped in his tracks and listened to her with fascination.

"Why won't it come to me? My music has always been a part of me, except after Walter killed me."

"Whoa, lady. What do you mean, 'after Walter killed me'?"

She continued as if she hadn't heard him, still pacing. "But I only lost it for a short time. It did come back. What if I was wrong? Oh God!! What if it's gone for good?" She shook her head in denial. 

Simon grabbed her shoulders, both to get her attention and to stop her tirade. "Walter *killed* you?"

"No, I mean he tried to kill me." Then she really looked at Simon. "Maybe it's you," she accused. "Maybe I'm more afraid for your life than my own."

"I doubt that," he answered dryly.

"No. It could be."

"I don't think you give a damn about anyone but yourself. Since you blew into town, you've managed to alienate every uniformed officer we have."

"Yeah, yeah. And your precious detectives."

There was a tone to her voice that sounded different. It reminded him of Daryl when he was trying to cover up his feelings. A sarcasm that rang false, almost. Could her abrasiveness be an act? A way of keeping people at a distance? Maybe she really did care about his life. Their eyes locked for a second, then she looked away.

"It doesn't matter who likes or doesn't like me. If I can't write, we die. I can't defeat her. She's right about that. God, why didn't I learn like Duncan said to. None of this would have happened if I had just done what I was supposed to."

Simon went over to put his arm around her in comfort. As soon as it touched her shoulder, she moved away, rejecting the gesture. What a piece of work she was. He turned his mind once more to figuring a way out. Then the eyes of the punk from the station came back to haunt him. Fear and bravado. She really was scared, but was refusing to show it.

"We'll get out. Between my detectives and your friend, MacLeod, they're sure to find us."

"You really think so?" An almost childlike expression of hope lit up her face, but she sounded lost and uncertain. Then the look was gone so fast he thought he might have imagined it.

"I can't expect Duncan to save me from my own mistakes. He has a life and problems of his own."

"But, he's your friend. He won't give up. Neither of them will give up 'til we're found."

"So, I write. That ought to give them some time to find us."

He nodded. She went back to the keyboard and produced some more notes. He sat back down on the floor. 

"What's your quickening and how's she going to take it?"

Claudia looked up. "It's European slang for blood. She's going to spill my blood."

That didn't make any sense. Manning definitely thought she was going to take it, not spill it. His head started to pound again and his stomach was churning. Sliding down the wall to a sitting position, he rested his head in his hands. He'd have to make sense out of it after they escaped. For now he had to concentrate on quelling the nausea so he could think of a way to escape. Maybe he should rest. Then if Ellison did arrive, he'd be alert and ready to help with his own rescue. 

III

Jim, Blair and Duncan MacLeod walked into the bullpen. The noise was deafening to the sentinel as they made their way to his desk. It seemed that everyone was talking about Simon's kidnapping.

Cassie came running up to him. Jeez, the woman must have been lying in wait. "I have the results on the blood analysis you wanted." She flashed him an eager smile and Jim had to force himself not to take a step backward.

"What did you find?"

She handed him a folder. "Nothing, actually. The blood type is 'O' negative. No chemicals. The red blood cells were normal as were the white cells. They didn't look like they had come in contact with electricity or magnetic fields. I ran all the tests I could think of. There's nothing in there that shouldn't be."

Jim pondered what she said. He knew what he smelled. The blood was different. Cassie just didn't run the right tests. But, what *were* the right tests?

Blair called out to him. "Hey, Jim, there's a note on your desk."

He snapped to attention. "What's it say?"

Blair opened it. "This is weird, man. It's like a business card."

Jim ripped it out of Blair's hand. "ReMax Realty. You ever heard of it, Chief?"

"Yeah, it's that old Victorian mansion over in Glendale. The place went out of business a few years ago. I had a student during my first year whose mom worked there. She moaned and groaned for days about how she wasn't able to go to spring break in Florida because of…"

"We should go," MacLeod interrupted.

Jim looked at him, puzzled.

MacLeod looked impatient. "That's where your captain and Claudia are being held."

"How do you know?" Jim leaned into his personal space.

"I just do," came his enigmatic response.

Frustrated, Jim nodded and motioned for Blair to precede him out the door.

"Jim, wait," Blair exclaimed. "If this is the place, we should take back-up. At least Rafe and Henri."

Sandburg was right. He looked over at Rafe and went over to tell him what was going on. On the way back, he happened to glance at Fielding. The detective wasn't looking at him, but his heart was going a little fast. As Jim got closer, his heartbeat increased. Without meaning to, Jim glanced down and looked at his wrist. It bore the same tattoo as the dead woman. Fielding started fidgeting in his seat. Jim stopped in his tracks and stood there, staring at the tattoo. 

Suddenly Blair grasped his arm. "Come on, man. Let's get going."

With a powerful stare into Fielding's eyes, Jim acquiesced and followed Blair and the rest out the door. 

Henri pulled up behind Jim's truck. Jim put a pair of binoculars up to his eyes, for show, and looked over the grounds. MacLeod was standing next to him. Jim handed him the pair.

"I don't see anything. Do you?" Jim asked MacLeod.

"No, we're still too far away. I think the other two should go up to the front door and ring the bell. You two," he pointed to Jim and Blair, "should go around back." 

"And you?" Jim asked, a little put out over the man taking charge.

"I'm going to try a different entrance."

Jim didn't wholly trust MacLeod, he knew the other man was operating on his own agenda. But the man did want Simon and Claudia Jardine alive, so Jim buried his misgivings and okayed the suggestion.

"Come on, Chief." Jim took out his gun and led the way to the back of the large house. They got to the back door and found it unlocked. He put his finger up to his lips to keep Sandburg from talking. Carefully, he opened the door and focused his eyes on the interior. The place was clear. Blair followed him in with his hand on Jim's shoulder. 

The back door opened into a hallway leading to the front of the house. A kitchen of sorts was beyond the first door to the right. Focusing his eyesight, he could make out a set of stairs starting about 18 feet down the hallway, on the left. The first few steps ended at a small landing, and then at a ninety degree turn, another set of stairs led up. Anyone coming down the stairs would have their backs to Jim. He walked a few more steps in, gradually turning up his hearing. 

Aside from his and Blair's, he could hear six distinct heartbeats. Then he heard the knock on the front door. Someone came tearing down the stairs leaving a string of profanity in his wake. Jim flattened himself against the wall, flinging his arm across Blair as a protective measure. Taking tiny steps, he inched forward, toward the staircase. They came to an open doorway. Jim slid forward and peered inside. It was a den or library of sorts; deserted. He shook his head at Blair and continued inching towards the stairs. 

"Do you hear anything?" Blair whispered.

"Rafe and Henri are at the front door. The man who came flying down the stairs is sneaking out a side window."

"Think we should help them?"

"Naw, they can handle it. Let's go up the stairs. I can hear voices up there."

"Simon's?"

"No, a woman, not Jardine. And possibly three others. I don't hear MacLeod, Simon or Jardine."

They stopped talking and made their way towards the stairs once more. Stepping warily, they started up. Jim turned to Blair. "I can hear someone opening up a door." Jim froze for a second and then continued up, gun ready, aiming for the top, Blair slightly behind him as usual.

They got to the top and Jim carefully looked around the corner. A long hallway greeted him with numerous doors, all closed. He listened carefully and could make out footsteps coming toward them. He stiffened in expectation. Suddenly a shot rang out. Jim clutched his head and sank into a crouch on the top step. The pain the sound caused was excruciating. 

"Turn the dials down, man," Blair urged, his whisper penetrating the agony.

Jim looked around the corner, but couldn't find the origin of the shot. Then came another. The bullet embedded into the wall behind him. Now he had the trajectory. A flash of something moved down the hall and through a door. He focused his hearing, praying that he wouldn't get clobbered by another loud sound. One heartbeat. It became a waiting game. Jim held his gun ready. A flash. Jim fired and a man fell into the hall. Taking a deep breath and then exhaling slowly as one, sentinel and guide went to the fallen man. The bullet had pierced his lung. He was dead. Damn.

Jim stood, listening. One faint heartbeat could be heard. He followed the sound. It seemed to be coming from another floor up. Ascending to the third floor, he caught a faint whiff of cigar smoke. He opened several doors, until he came to a locked one. Taking a few steps back, he rushed and kicked in the door. Simon was lying on the floor, alive, but with a nasty knock on the head. There was no sign of the Jardine woman. Jim ran his hands over Simon, looking for other injuries.

Then Simon opened his eyes. He swatted away Jim's hands.

"That woman hit me over the head with a keyboard."

"The woman who kidnapped you did this?"

"No!" he winced. "Jardine did it. We heard a little commotion outside. Then Manning came running in the door. She was waving this sword around saying that the Highlander was here, and she had better…then Jardine came up behind me and hit me on the head with the keyboard. Twice in one day. Do I have a sign on my head that says 'hit me'?"

Jim couldn't find any other injuries, so he helped Simon to his feet. The captain swayed, but with Jim on one side and Blair on the other, they were able to help him out of the room. Cautiously, they made their way to the stairs. 

"Did you get the impression that Jardine was in cahoots with this Manning woman?" Jim asked.

"No," Simon replied. "Claudia was positive that Manning intended to kill her. She was defeated from the start."

"So why did she clonk you on the head?" asked Blair.

Simon shook his head, then went pale. "I need to sit." He slumped down on the steps. Jim kept going over the scenario in his mind. It didn't make sense. If Jardine knew she was going to die, why did she knock Simon out? Why didn't she think that maybe, help was on its way in a rescue attempt and that Simon would help her overpower Manning so they could all escape?

"Need some help?" Rafe called up from the second floor landing. 

Simon and Blair were sitting on the top step. Jim went halfway down the staircase. "Everything taken care of down there?" 

"We've got one man handcuffed to Henri's car, one man is dead in the hall here." Rafe nodded towards the body. "I assume you took care of that. There's another unconscious by the front door, he's cuffed, too. No sign of anyone else."

"What about MacLeod, Jardine and the Manning woman?"

"Didn't see 'em."

They managed to get Simon down to the second floor. "Rafe, take care of Simon. Sandburg and I are going to take another look around."

Jim hurried down the stairs with Blair close behind.

"Where do you think they are? We've got three missing people. Since I didn't hear a car leave; they must be here somewhere." Jim was puzzled.

"What about a hidden room? A secret tunnel? This *is* an old house," Blair reminded him.

Jim focused once more with his hearing. He filtered out his own and Blair's heartbeats. Next he filtered out the other three. Faintly, he heard three more. But they were far away… and down. A basement? Then the sound was accompanied by a different, much louder noise. It was a clanking he couldn't identify. Carefully, he concentrated harder. He knew that this noise was a key to the puzzle.

Suddenly a large explosion rocked the house. Wave upon wave of noise reverberated in his eardrums. Control, he had lost control. The world around him was lost and only the pain remained. The pressure inside the house seemed to drop, causing the inside of his head to throb. He fought, and the more he fought, the harder it became to concentrate.

Comfort. A hand was running up and down his arm. He could feel that. Centering his mind on the feeling, the noise quieted and Blair's voice came through. The words had no meaning, but the timber and rhythmic nature of them captured his mind. Turning the invisible dials down, the pain receded. He sneezed. Plaster was falling from the walls.

"Jim, we need a hand here!"

Rafe was calling from above. They still needed to get Simon down the last flight of stairs. The house seemed to be falling down around them. Jim, still a little shaky, but doing better, ran back up the stairs and the three of them helped Simon down. It was hard to believe that only moments had passed since they'd found Simon. Jim took one side and Rafe the other, and they practically carried their captain down the stairs and out the front door. Outside, Jim could make out what looked like lightning arcing from inside the house to the outside. It came from the back of the house and the front. Then the windows imploded, sending flying shards of glass into the house. Henri was busy dragging the unconscious man from the doorstep towards the road.

"What do you think that is?" Blair asked in bewilderment. "A bomb?"

"I don't think so," Jim answered. "A bomb never would've cause a pressure gradient that would make the windows blow like that."

They all stood gazing at the destruction. "Do you think Claudia, Duncan and the other woman are stuck in there?" Blair asked, clearly worried.

"We can't do anything now. After things settle down we'll get a team to go through the rubble," Jim answered, trying to figure out the best way to handle it.

"Can you hear any heartbeats?"

"No, the house settling is making too much noise."

Sirens wailed in the distance. Henri and Rafe were questioning the suspect that they did have in custody, but he didn't appear to be cooperating. Jim continued to look at the house, waiting for the commotion to die down. 

As soon as he thought it was safe, Jim turned to his captain. "Sir, I want to go back in there and look around." 

Simon opened his mouth, "Ellison, I …" and then he keeled over.

Henri had already called in for a medic, and as Simon collapsed, the ambulance arrived. 

"Over here!" Jim barked at the paramedics. "We've got a man down."

With Simon in capable hands, Jim's attention returned to the house. "Come on, Chief. Let's take a look around."

Henri stayed with Simon, while Rafe joined Jim and Blair for their return trip into the house. The bomb squad had arrived, including Taggart. Whatever had happened inside the house, had finished. A SWAT team swarmed all the entrances, with the bomb squad close behind. Jim and his friends went in the front door and began their own search.

"I don't believe that whatever happened here, happened upstairs." Jim said, thinking aloud. 

Rafe added, "We were up there, and didn't see Miss Jardine, her friend, or anyone else."

For the next hour Jim and the rest of the team scoured the building. The upstairs contained some clothing and personal items, but nothing that could identify the squatters. The basement held the most damage. It was here that Jim could detect the origins of the electrical discharge. But, how it had originated, he hadn't a clue. The walls had been reduced to rubble and buried underneath, was a faint odor of blood. 

"Find something?" Blair asked, looking over his shoulder.

He picked up a piece of drywall that contained the scent, and took a deep whiff. "It's blood and one of the odors is identical to a component in the blood that I removed from Miss Jardine's hotel room. Except it's stronger here. It reminds me of a thunderstorm."

"Remember the lightning we saw come out of the house?" Blair responded. "I bet that's what made the blood smell like that."

"Chief, there wasn't any lightning in the hotel room," Jim pointed out. "I'll have forensics compare them."

Disappointed at the lack of clues inside the house, Jim decided to call it a day. Duncan MacLeod, Claudia Jardine, and Alicia Manning had disappeared. Simon had been taken to the hospital and he wanted to see how his captain was doing. Then he'd go back to the department and see if anything else had turned up. 

At nine o'clock that night, Simon was given a clean bill of health. He had a minor concussion, no swelling or permanent damage. He was told to take it easy, but he demanded that Jim take him to the station first. Jim could tell that Simon needed to gather the ropes of command. He had been cut off for too long. In the back of his mind, Jim was hoping that Fielding would be there. He really wanted to figure out what was going on with the whole Watcher thing and find out who the hell Joe Dawson was.

After arriving, Simon walked directly to his office and closed the door. Rafe was the only other detective in the bullpen. The three men stood talking about the ordeal.

"Ellison?! What the hell is this?" Simon stood in his office doorway, flashing a piece of paper.

Jim sighed and went to see what Simon was angry about now.

Simon started reading, "'I regret to inform you that due to unforeseen family difficulties, I will not be able to continue as a detective in your department. Please accept my resignation, effective immediately, knowing that this will,' bla, bla, bla. Signed Hank Fielding. What family difficulties? You know anything about this?"

Jim filled with anger. So, he flew the coop rather than make explanations. Another loose end, never to be tied up. "He knew something, Simon."

"What!?" Simon pushed him into the office and closed the door. "What did he know?"

"I think he was the one who gave us the clue about your whereabouts. We came in and Sandburg found a card on my desk with ReMax Realty on it. MacLeod was positive that you were being held there. As we were leaving, I happened to notice that Fielding's heartbeat was rapid and he wouldn't look at me. I glanced at his wrist and he had a tattoo, just like the dead woman we found."

"So, Fielding was a Watcher."

"Pardon me, Captain, but Fielding was not a historian, he was a detective. How did *you* find out about them?"

"Manning mentioned them. Thought *I* was one because I knew her name."

"Now he's gone and we'll never know."

Simon nodded absently. Rafe and Blair joined them.

"Chief, I think it's time for us to go home. We'll handle the rest of this mess tomorrow. Simon, you need me to drive you home?"

"I have my car in the garage," the captain replied.

"But are you okay enough to drive?"

Rafe chimed in. "I'll take him. You two can head out." 

Jim thanked him.

When they arrived at the loft, Jim immediately turned on the television. He was curious to see if anything was mentioned about Jardine's concert. The news concluded with the reporter standing outside the Cascade Auditorium Theater. With a resigned shrug, he waited to see how it was going to be covered. Would they mention the kidnapping? It almost felt like a personal defeat that everything had gotten so far out of hand. The news anchor began talking and the camera panned to the inside of the Theater. People were filing out.

"Hey, man, turn it up!" Blair was sitting on the edge of the seat. 

"This is Nancy Halsted with KLX-TV at the Cascade Auditorium Theater where Claudia Jardine has just wowed her audience with the most spectacular show she's ever given. She came on stage despite rumors that she had been kidnapped and even killed, and gave a performance that was sensational. This reporter quoted her as saying that it was a celebration of life. Her life. She started out playing…"

Jim shook his head in amazement. She was alive. They both had to be alive or else she never would have gone up on stage. She would have been hounding the police to find MacLeod, to do something. Then she gave a concert just hours after being held hostage. A grim determination replaced his tiredness. He needed to question her. 

"…she boarded a plane right after the concert and is headed for her next concert dates in London. We all feel privileged to have witnessed such a remarkable performance and hope her genius continues and she will grace us with future concerts…"

"They've already left?! Can they do that, Jim? Don't they need to give a statement or something?"

"Yes, they do."

The phone rang. Jim answered.

Simon barked on the phone. "I just got a call from the mayor congratulating me on solving the case in such a timely fashion. I did *not* like saying that I had no idea what he was talking about."

"It was just on the news," Jim responded.

"Miss Jardine called her manager at the mayor's, saying that the concert was on and that the Cascade Police had done a wonderful job protecting her. What the hell was I to say to that?"

"I don't know." Jim shook his head in disgust.

"Now, they're gone. Both boarded a plane for London right after the concert. The case is over. Our job was to protect her so she could perform. We did that and now she's safely on her way to London."

"Gocha, Captain."

Jim hung up the phone furious that they had slipped through his fingers, not once, but now twice. First at the house, and now after the concert. He repeated the conversation for Blair.

"Wish I knew what happened at the house," Blair thought out loud. "I mean, Duncan goes in to try and rescue Claudia. We go in and find Simon unconscious, but no Claudia inside that room. Who let her out? Had to be Manning. Duncan would have rescued Simon too, if he'd seen him. So, Manning makes Claudia go somewhere and Duncan meets up with them and somehow saves her."

Jim gave an exaggerated yawn. "I don't want to think about it now. I'm going to head up to bed. Night, Chief."

"Good-night Jim."

Several minutes later, Blair whispered, "You just don't like to think that Duncan out-smarted you."

Upstairs, Jim clenched his teeth in frustration.

The next morning when Jim walked into the bullpen, he could see Cassie hanging around. Fighting the temptation to turn around and leave, he closed the door behind him and walked to his desk. Slinging his coat over the back of his chair, he then looked at Cassie. She was holding a file, which she placed in front of him. Her heart was beating fast, and Jim could practically smell her nervousness.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone broke into forensics last night."

Jim gave a mocking laugh. "In a police station? Someone off the streets just waltzed in and…" he left the sentence unfinished.

"They took the two blood samples you had requested analyses on and almost all the documentation on what had been done."

He couldn't believe it. The only piece of evidence they had was now missing. He shook his head in disgust. Then he remembered the word 'almost'. He picked up the file she had put on his desk and opened it. Inside was spectral analysis of sample one. 

"I have this friend in the chemistry department at Stanford and asked him to run it for me. As for the second sample that was brought in last night, I ran some preliminary tests last night and then went home."

"What did you find?"

"The blood from last night was 'O' negative, like the first, but this time I found traces of red blood cells which had been damaged by burning, or something like that. I don't know if the two samples were from the same person or not." She looked at him sheepishly.

"They took the paperwork too?"

"All my files were gone. I had three folders on my desk with data, and they were all missing. I sent a small sample down to my friend, which he used in his test. When I got into work this morning, his results were in the mail, so the thief didn't know about them."

"Thank you, Cassie," he dismissed her tiredly. Nothing had gone right in this case. Now, any evidence he had that proved that something else was going on behind the scenes with Duncan MacLeod, Claudia Jardine, and Alicia Manning, had disappeared. As he thought about it, Jim became convinced that Hank Fielding was the one responsible for the theft. It had to be an inside job, and he was the only one who had a suspicious tie-in with the case.

"Ellison! My office!" Simon Banks yelled. 

Jim shoved the spectral analysis and all his other unanswered questions about Claudia Jardine and her friend Duncan MacLeod aside. He'd have to get back to them another day. Simon had another case for him.

The End


End file.
